Original subtitles

Subtitles by explosiveskull

"Dear Diary,

Yesterday's lunchtime poll asked,

'Who are you'?

And the weird thing is, everyone at Westerburg had an answer.

The jock table all said they were brave.

The gay nerd table all said they were true,

and the slut table all said they were open.

When it finally came my turn, Heather C. turned to me and said...

'Well, come on, Veronica. Who are you?'

And I told her...

I didn't know.

So, she answered for me.

She said I was once a basic cable bitch,

but now, with her help,

I'm actually really just..."

Who is Veronica Sawyer?

Who am I?

I don't know. I mean, I... I guess...

-I'm a good person. -Good person? Veronica.

"Good person" is not going to cut it.

We are trying for Ivy Leagues here.

They need to know your identity. Your brand.

What makes Veronica Veronica.

I'm loyal. I think. I think I'm a good friend.

-I'm half Jewish. -It's not the 80s, Veronica.

I suppose we can try for Remington.

What? No. Remington? That's...

No, I have a 4.2 and I got a 1510 on my SATs.

By any chance are you a hermaphrodite?

-No. -Damn.

Look. It's all about the personal essay now.

And it's called "personal" because they need to know who you are.

I mean I'm 17. Isn't it kind of the point that I don't know who I am yet?

No, Veronica, it's not the point. Not in today's market.

Look, just give me something so I can help you.

Fine.

What about this?

Veronica Sawyer is literally nothing.

Hi, Veronica.

Hey, Betty.

Hey, sorry that I missed your recital.

You didn't miss anything. It was awful.

Come on, don't say that.

Oh, my God.

Is that us from third grade?

You always had to be blue.

Veronica, Heather Chandler is looking for you.

Well, duty calls.

Even when I wanted to be blue.

Well, suck my third nipple.

If it isn't Veronica Sawyer, four minutes late.

Yeah, sorry, I got cornered by Fleming.

How Banana Republic.

-It's ironic, Heather. -We're not doing irony anymore.

Keep up. Now you won't believe what Heather spotted.

It's so gorgeous tragic you'll die.

So, I was walking through B Hall--

God, Heather, are we already making this about you?

Everyone is saying Heather Chandler is going to confront Ram.

-I love her. -She was amazing in Our Town.

-Heather, my parents are away and-- -Don't.

Ram. Where's Kurt?

Anyway, what does your shirt say, Ram?

It says "Remington Squaws".

Yeah.

Stand up.

"Squaws"? Don't you think that's a bit offensive?

Dylan Lutz is 1/16th First Nations Peoples.

It's cool. Honestly, I didn't even notice.

This isn't about you, qwat.

Take off the shirt, jock.

-Right here? -Did Heather stutter? Take it off now.

No, come on, Heather. Just leave him alone.

Why are you being such hose trash right now, Veronica?

-Take off the shirt. -I'm not!

If we don't call out the literal Auschwitz of hate

that goes on at Westerburg on a daily basis,

then who will?

Take it off.

Now, how does it feel to be part of the 21st century?

-Cold. -Now for your penance,

I need you to go ask Jesus Julie if she'll do anal with you.

Jesus Julie-- No. No way.

Do it, or I post this to my 245,000 followers,

several of whom literally write for blogs in New York and LA.

Which means your racist ass will be a viral casualty by fifth period.

And then say good-bye to whatever date rape-y scholarship

-you're getting from Remington, Ram. -Yeah, Ram.

-Shut up, Heather. -Yeah, shut up, Heather.

Heather, only I tell Heather to shut up.

Oh, yeah.

I'm going to get a soda.

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

-Your friends are-- -That same great high school bitch taste

you've come to hate, but now...

in a new, environmentally friendly packaging.

So why do you hang out with them?

It's high school.

Why do we do anything that we do?

Fair point. I'm JD.

Yeah, I know who you are.

Transferred from Washington after you got kicked out of Jefferson.

And now I'm here at Westerburg,

where the only thing that's changed is the number of metal detectors.

I like your whole rebel thing.

I'm not a rebel, Veronica.

Okay. So, what are you then?

'Cause everybody's got to be something.

Do they? I'm white, I'm black, I'm pro-gun, I'm queer.

I'm post-queer. I'm a post-queer, pro-gun Latino.

Blah, blah, blah. Look.

Despite the box we check on our college applications,

my dear, we still all end up worm food

in that great Corn Nut landfill in the sky.

So, you checked off over-dramatic loser.

Take a look around, Miss Sawyer.

What do you see?

An entire generation raised to love and accept ourselves no matter what,

without ever realizing that sometimes a little self-hatred

is good for the soul.

How just.

JD?

Yeah, he's new.

And I'm sure I'd let him suck me off, but, Veronica, he's in high school.

Hey, no girls in the girls' restroom.

What do you think?

You know, what if the next truly revolutionary thing

was just to be totally normal?

God, Veronica.

How come you're always Snape-ing everyone's jizz?

Come on, I'll buy you a Slushee.

Yeah, the thing about LeBron's game is it's actually

more of an all-around game where Steff Curry's just a shooter.

-The mix is off. -Well, I told you to get blue.

Oh. My. Clit.

Is that Heather McNamara with...

with Mr. Waters?

Heather Chandler is going to shit herself skinny

when she finds out our black lesbian friend is actually only black.

No, Heather, don't send that to Heather.

I'm not a monster, Veronica. God.

Eight million refugees. What a shame.

Look at that poor, poor dog.

Great hummus, but...

I gotta' tesla.

How come I can never get these little boxes to go away?

It's 'cause you're an idiot, Dad.

Oh, yeah. That's it.

You two.

Oh, did you see this cat?

Your first Koenig party.

Now seriously, Veronica, half the guys here

have already been profiled in Kinfolk, so please don't embarrass me.

I promise I'm not going to act impressed by anything or anyone.

I need a hot pic in front of this piece.

Smile.

Centered? God, you can be such an Ugg boot latte sometimes.

I made you, Veronica.

You were nothing before you met me.

You were a cheerleader.

You were a rich girl.

You were playing croquet with Betty Finn,

and this... this is how you repay me?

Wake up, Veronica.

Jacob just asked you what you thought of this piece.

I find it to be very... art student.

Well, you guys are all art students, right?

If you're going to openly be a flooze--

Oh my God, there's Amita. Amita!

Hey, do you have a car?

Yeah. Why?

Is it any good?

No way!

Making it very clear I stopped as soon as I heard the word "no".

How noble.

It was really nice meeting you.

So sculptural.

What is your father-wound, Heather?

Veronica. Can't you see I was talking about art?

No, you posted that pic of Ram wearing the jersey.

-Isn't it just? -No, his life is going to be ruined.

Why are you being so toasty, Veronica?

I'm helping him.

Sure, his life will suck for a few weeks

and maybe he'll lose his scholarship and won't be able to go to college

but in the end, he'll realize that disrespecting disadvantaged people

by wearing that shirt is wrong.

Yeah, I think he got that when you embarrassed him

in the cafeteria, Heather.

I let you slide because you're half Jewish and this is Ohio,

but news flash, no one cares anymore.

You know what you are, Veronica?

You're nothing.

Well, at least I'm a good person.

A good person?

Grow up, Veronica.

You're Panera.

You're Sbarro.

You're Cheesecake Factory.

You back-bench skange!

No, that was an accident!

You spilled art all over my brand-new pussy skirt!

Well, then lick it up, fatty. Lick it up.

Did you just fat shame me...

in public?

Once everyone hears about this, you're history.

Delete your Snapchat, delete your Instagram,

download a fire extinguishing app,

because Veronica Sawyer is about to get flamed.

"Dear Diary, I know what you're thinking.

Calm down, Veronica, it's only high school.

It doesn't mean anything.

But you don't know what it's like nowadays.

Anything she posts about me will be cement.

Every school, every job I apply to,

every guy I meet for the next 10,000 years

will all know me as the girl who fat-shamed Heather Chandler.

I mean, congrats, society.

We've given a random high school senior in Sherwood, Ohio

more power than... William Randolph Hearst.

God, why did I call her a fatty?

I just wish Heather Chandler would die so I can finally be free."

Saludos y saludos, my dear.

JD, what are you doing here?

Oh, no. Here, give that...

back.

What do you want, JD?

We're young. We're free.

Let's snort Adderall, make out and get Slushees.

Don't worry about it, Ram.

This will all blow over in a few days.

Hey, I got you some stuff to cheer you up.

Thanks, Kurt. Appreciate it.

Mineral water, thank you.

A candy dish.

-Postcard. Who's this? -It's Joan Crawford.

Okay.

Stud Puppy?

That's for me.

So where were you before here?

Sherwood, Ohio.

Alaska.

Baton Rouge. And now...

back to Sherwood, Ohio.

And anytime, anywhere,

there has always been a Snappy Snack Shack.

I guess...

corporate monotony keeps me sane.

So, are you like a military kid?

Dad's in energy.

Big Bud Oil and Gas.

Big Bud, like, Big Bud Dean?

Like, the fracking king of Ohio?

Oh, my God, I think Heather dragged me to a protest at one of your dad's sites.

And where is Sherwood's most influential teen this evening?

Probably plotting my death.

Yeah. Kind of embarrassed her at a Koenig party tonight.

Congratulations.

No, JD. A Koenig party's a big deal.

I know. Bunch of uptight trust fund kids standing around

analyzing the meaning of a pile of dirt.

Actually, Miss Sawyer...

I beat I can beat a Koenig party.

-Oh, can you? -Yeah.

See, the thing about parties, my dear, is they're not about location.

They're about who you're with.

And I bet

I can throw a better party right here at Snappy Snack Shack.

Party for two at the Shack.

First thing every good party needs...

Music.

Next, libations.

How do you take your Slushee?

We have cherry or blue flavor.

Oh, why, blue flavor, please.

And the last thing

every good party needs...

Atmosphere.

So, what do you think?

I think your party's great. But...

Let's get out of here.

JD, why are we at Heather's house?

We sneak in, put the hat on her head,

snap a quick pic from her phone and post it to her accounts

with a simple "LOL", and voila.

Heather Chandler learns a valuable after-school lesson.

Where'd you get all this crap?

Dad collects it. Says it reminds him of a simpler time.

That's gross.

What are the pills for?

Schatten-selbst pills. They induce vomiting.

Hitler carried them around in case he was poisoned.

In the event we want to make things...

messier.

Okay, Heather's not just going to swallow a pill

because you ask nicely.

There is one thing the girl can't resist.

Yeah, I don't know about this, JD.

Come on, Veronica.

Don't think of it like you're hurting Heather Chandler.

Think of it like you're helping everyone else.

It's cool. Her parents are in Tulum.

Okay, I'm done. Let's just post it and get out of here.

Not so fast.

We have to take it from an angle so that it looks like a selfie.

And a video for good measure.

What the queef is this?

Oh, wow. I get it.

Prince Harry me as revenge. Grow up, Veronica.

She told you about her little mishap, right?

I'm sure she's been scribbling about it in her little diary all night.

"Dear Cruel World,

Everyone thinks I have it so great,

but the truth is I'm worthless because I'm nothing.

Give me my phone.

First, a little dare.

Down this bag in five seconds and you get your phone back.

I'm not going to do something just because you dare me to, Snowden.

I'm sorry. I didn't realize the great Heather Chandler

was trying to lose weight.

How dare you?

Just give me the Corn Nuts.

When's she supposed to throw up?

-Shit. -No, what do you mean?

I gave her the wrong pills. These are German suicide pills.

-I must have grabbed the wrong ones. -What?!

You just killed my best friend.

-You said you wanted her dead. -Metaphorically.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

I'm gonna be experimenting with lesbianism at San Quentin

instead of Sarah Lawrence.

I've got it.

We make a suicide vid.

How could anything be more now?

No, JD, we've got to call the police.

Do you want to spend the rest of your life in prison?

Look, as sad as it is, Heather Chandler is already gone.

What is the point in ruining two more lives?

Think of it as a statement.

A little creative editing,

and we have ourselves the perfect example of teenage angst

for our sad, lonely, connected generation.

"Dear Cruel World,

Everyone thinks I have it so great, but the truth is

I'm worthless because I'm nothing.

Oh, my God, why are we doing this?

Okay, but just trim a few seconds.

We'll get more hits if we keep it under 10.

That's my girl.

All right. Sad face emoji, pill emoji,

and post.

Now we just sit back and watch as the world consumes the tragedy

of Heather Chandler.

JD, what we just did is wrong.

Don't you get that?

Semantics, my dear.

We're not avoiding taxes, we're the sharing economy.

We're not destroying jobs, we're disrupting industries.

And we didn't kill Heather Chandler.

We simply offered her a new and exciting post-life experience.

Babe, young minds like ourselves can't be expected

to know right from wrong.

When the people society tells us to admire most

are the very people who've made billions finding new and innovative ways

to rename criminal behavior.

You're so full of it.

Tomato to-mato.

Well, come on.

We're going to be late for school.

Did you hear? Heather Chandler killed herself this morning

and her suicide video already made the CNN.com home page.

And this girl was popular, you say?

Very. Her suicide video has 27 million likes,

and she's only been dead a few hours.

I find the Nazi imagery to be an incredibly powerful statement

about teenage oppression.

I mean this Heather Chandler girl was pushing a good 200.

Not to mention the performance was flawless.

Of course, I directed her in Our Town.

-Was she really that fat? -The preferred term is body positive.

Oh, shut up, Pauline.

Principal Gowan, I suggest that we close the school for a week,

let the media frenzy die down.

And use that time to be with any students

who might need some extra comfort.

So fat kids can be popular now.

Oh, and the damn nerds. Don't tell me they're popular now too.

And the trans kid.

The blacks had a good run.

Obviously, the gays and Jews are over.

What about the Asian kids? Always liked them.

Never really popped.

But there is this kid who is what they call gender queer

who we find to be very well liked.

Is he/she fat?

-Rail thin. -At least that's comforting.

You know, I have experienced a sickening amount of intolerance in my life.

Gluten doesn't count, Pauline.

But what I am hearing in this room really takes the cake.

A popular girl

is dead.

And Westerburg is under the spotlight.

The Times: "Shocking Online Death Sparks Discussion".

Jezebel: "How The Patriarchy Killed Heather Chandler".

I suggest you read that one, David.

The Drudge Report: "Deceased Obese: Is Hillary To Blame?"

And The Post:

"It's SS Suicide For Nazi Fatty".

Well. How come they get to say the word "fat", Pauline?

My point is that we have an opportunity here

to send a message that could

reverberate around the entire planet.

I say we hold

a celebration of life rally.

After school in the gym.

Will we be getting overtime?

Fine. Pauline, you can organize your little women of the woods coven,

but only during lunch because I'm not paying overtime.

I mean, goddamn, she was fat.

This is so sad.

I know. They didn't even use a filter.

No one tells you how to prepare for something like this.

Like...

Are we supposed to unfollow her now?

I got to practice my eulogy.

Wait. I was going to give her eulogy.

Heather, you can barely read.

Okay, Heather was my best friend, Heather.

Heather was my best friend, Heather.

I'm giving the eulogy.

Whoever gives this eulogy has the opportunity

to take the reins from Heather, Heather.

And that should be me.

Okay, I think Heather would want to be euthanized

by an actual female.

And I think Heather would want to be eulogized

by someone who's actually a member of the LGBTQQIAP community.

What?

Where'd you get that?

And post.

I'm sorry, Heather.

Looks like now everyone knows your dirty little secret.

Isn't it just?

"Dear Diary,

I know murdering someone is totally rude,

but then again isn't hating on someone for being a murderer equally as rude?"

No, that reads as if I'm stupid.

"Dear Diary,

JD is right.

I can't be held responsible.

I'm just a poor, love-struck girl

who has been manipulated by a guy into..."

No, that makes me sound like I'm reinforcing gender stereotypes.

"Dear Diary, I don't know why I did what I did 'cause I'm 17.

There, is that what you want?

I don't know.

-I'm sorry about Heather. -Hey, Betty.

I know she thought I was a total multi-cam, but...

I admired her anyway.

Thanks, Betty.

Hey. You know, maybe you could come over today for a game of croquet?

Like old times.

I'll let you be blue.

I'm busy.

Sad face emoji.

Pill emoji.

The powerful last words of Heather Chandler.

Many of you may be asking

how can any of us go on?

When even a popular girl can be sad.

The answer:

we must find someone to blame.

But blame not Heather Chandler.

Blame her not, for she was a victim

of a society that asked too much of her.

No. Instead, we must turn our gaze

to the murderess herself, Veronica!

To the drugs.

The very drugs that many of you young people

are mollied up on at this very moment.

While we may not have proof,

she does. And now, a eulogy.

My name is Betty Finn.

And...

Heather Chandler hated me.

Well, it didn't always start out that way.

She was my next-door neighbor.

We grew up together.

We played hide and seek and braided each other's hair.

But as happens so often, high school came.

She was that fabulous alternative girl everyone wanted to be.

And I was just...

Well, a nobody.

But I don't blame Heather for hating me.

Our society set those rules, not her.

But maybe...

Maybe we can take this moment to start chipping away at some of those rules.

To create a Westerburg where Heathers

and Rams...

and Bettys...

No, and everyone in between.

Where we can all be friends.

So, let's take a stand, right here, right now.

Go ahead, stand up.

And let us recognize

that we are all... one.

-Thank you. -Yeah!

Betty!

That basic cable bitch.

Stop using Heather's lines, Heather.

Jesus, Julie, stop being such a whorn-out human bounce-house and smile.

New boss meet newer boss.

Well, fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

What I remember most about Heather is her kindness.

I mean, you don't get to 245,000 followers

unless you're truly a good person.

I'm Veronica.

Pate?

I'm vegetarian.

Of course, you are.

"How was work today, Pop?" "Oh, great, kids."

Some little pansy journo who's never had a real job in his life

writes an op ed piece about how fracking is bad for Ohio,

and I got to haul ass before the goddamn legislature.

"Tough times to be a rich white dude, son."

"Oh, we'll be fine, Pop.

A few campaign contributions, couple of well-timed TV spots,

a nighttime visit to his editor's house."

"Well, son, your presence here has been lovely as usual,

but if you don't mind, my girlfriend and I

would like to start having sexual intercourse now."

It was nice to meet you, Veronica.

"Don't forget to use a condom, son".

Well, he hates me.

He's an acquired taste.

It was pretty normal, actually,

until we had what we refer to as ”the incident".

Regular night, Mom vacuumed, cooked dinner,

set the table, and then just in time for Pops and I to get home,

she doused the whole place in gasoline, put a bullet in her head.

I'm so sorry.

Last thing I saw was her waving at me from the upstairs window.

And even at that age, I remember knowing that she felt nothing.

And neither did I.

Heather? Heather?!

Calm down, it's probably another one of her...

What does she call it? One of her video art skits.

Oh, my God.

See?

Oh, Heather.

I just had the carpet steamed.

Doing one of her phone snaps and got a Corn Nut stuck in her throat.

Heather, you know we don't allow corn syrup in this household.

I'm fine.

Just get the hell out of my room! Go!

-Okay, sweetie. -You upset her.

It took forever to get those carpets cleaned.

"Dear Cruel World,

Everyone thinks I have it so great,

but the truth is I'm worthless because I'm nothing."

That little bitch.

I'm gonna rip her to--

Twenty-seven million likes?

I'm fucking famous.